


Promises

by Green



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alive Hales, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Anal Fingering, Arranged Marriage, Bad Parent Sheriff Stilinski, Child Neglect, Full Shift Werewolves, Grief/Mourning, Knotting, M/M, Mates, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Therapy, and they lived happily ever after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 13:40:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15414183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/pseuds/Green
Summary: Peter's courting gift is a second chance for Stiles's sick mother. It won't last forever, but it's precious time they wouldn't have otherwise.Stiles is a just a kid, but he knows a good deal when he sees one.





	Promises

**Author's Note:**

> Twisted_Mind helped me so much with writing this, and it took me forever. Julibean beta'd, but I've been editing up until the last minute.
> 
> Day 3 Steter Week - Mates

When Stiles is nine, his mom comes home from her doctor with a diagnosis, long words he's never heard before. Words he's not supposed to hear now, but he's a skilled little eavesdropper. (Or so he's heard.) Plus, he needs to know what's going on.

His parents look and sound _scared_ , and it makes something cold knot up inside him.

The oppressiveness of the news only increases as the night goes on. His mother goes to bed but his father goes downstairs with a bottle. Stiles can't breathe in the house now, where his mom is sick and his dad is already grieving.

He slips out the back door and runs. He doesn't realize he's running toward the Preserve until he's already there. All he knows is away, away, _away_.

This is how the wolf finds him: dirty, crying, exhausted, and alone beneath a giant oak tree. 

Stiles has always know there are werewolves in the world, it's not like it's a secret. But he's never seen a shifted wolf before, and he stops his crying to look at it. Him. Stiles thinks the wolf is a boy.

The wolf looks at him but Stiles doesn't startle or scream. He thinks maybe that's what the wolf is waiting for, but he doesn't.

"I ran away from home," Stiles tells the wolf. "But not forever. Just… just for a little while."

The wolf moves closer. Stiles gives him a trembling smile. 

"I just want to stay here for a little while," Stiles says, and hiccups because he's been crying.

The wolf noses at his shoulder. 

"You're really big," Stiles whispers. "I wish I was a wolf. I wish… I wish I could just run away forever. But I don't want my parents to be sad. They're sad enough."

The wolf cocks his head.

Stiles sighs. "My mom's sick. I think she's going to die. That's… that's what it sounded like. I didn't understand all the words they used."

The wolf lies down beside Stiles. It makes him feel comforted, even without having heard a single word. Stiles starts to cry again, but this time he cries into the wolf's fur.

* * *

A week after Stiles runs away — and is escorted back home by a big black wolf with no one the wiser — some werewolves from the Hale pack come to talk to his parents. He doesn't get to eavesdrop for very long before he's found out.

He does hear his father say, "He's so young, we don't even know if he's an omega or not."

An amused voice answers, "We know. It's a distinctive scent."

His mother says, "I'm not selling my son!"

And a woman says, "We're not suggesting that at all, Mrs. Stilinski."

But Stiles is caught. The door he's listening at opens and a blue eyed young man looks down at him with amusement. "I don't think this is a conversation your parents want you to hear, little one."

Stiles is filled with questions that want to come gushing out. But he keeps quiet. 

"Come on, let's go into another room while they talk." 

"Who are you?" Stiles asks after he's led into the kitchen. He climbs up on one of the stools at the center bar.

"My name is Peter. But we've already met," the werewolf says. 

A smile breaks out across Stiles's face. "Are you my wolf?"

"I am," Peter says, a little too seriously for the question.

"Why are you all here?" Stiles knows a group of werewolves visiting a human family has to be a special occasion.

"I shouldn't tell you," Peter says.

Stiles pouts. Glares. Wrinkles his nose. All the techniques he knows to pull information out of adults.

"You told me about your mother's illness, remember?" Peter asks as he sits down on the stool next to Stiles.

Stiles's eyes get very big. "Can you fix her?"

Peter shakes his head. He looks sad. But then he says, "We can help, though. We can give her more time and a better quality of life."

Stiles doesn't know what the latter is supposed to mean, but 'more time' sounds promising. "How?"

Peter smiles. "Magic. A friend of ours is a healer, and he says he knows how to help your mother. Which is why we're here."

Stiles glances toward the living room where loud voices have just erupted. Peter hops off the stool and reaches out for Stiles's hand. Stiles takes it without hesitation. This is his wolf, who watched over him in the dark of the Preserve and let him cry into his fur for a long time. He's not afraid.

Peter leads him out the back door. There's a swing on the patio and they sit on it. 

"Am I really an omega?" Stiles asks. "I'm not supposed to know yet."

"How old are you, Stiles?" Peter asks.

"Nine and a half," Stiles says.

Peter winces a little though Stiles doesn't know why. "Well, it's true that most omegas don't know they are until they go through puberty. But werewolves have such a good sense of smell, we can tell years before."

"So what's it got to do with my mom?" Stiles asks.

"My pack alpha is here to arrange a marriage between you and one of her wolves," Peter answers. 

Stiles blinks. "I'm way too young to get married."

Peter smiles. "Yes, we know that. But you won't always be too young."

"So if my parents agree to me marrying a werewolf, then... then mom will get better?"

Peter swears under his breath. "Think of it as… a courting gift. You've heard of those, right?"

Stiles nods. Of course he has.

"Well this one is a little different, but that's essentially what it is. And if you like the courting gift, then you agree. But since you're too young to agree, my sister has to get your parents to agree, instead."

Stiles looks up at his wolf. "I'd agree, if I was allowed to. I want my mom to be healthy. For… for as long as she can." He bites at his bottom lip. "Do you know who I'd marry?"

"It's me, Stiles. I'm the one who's offering the courting gift."

Stiles blinks up at him. "Really?"

Peter smiles but he looks nervous. "Really."

"Do my parents know?"

"I'm sure Talia is explaining it to them as we speak," Peter says, cocking his head like he's listening. He probably is. Stiles knows werewolves have good hearing.

Stiles gets up from the swing and starts walking into the house.

"Where are you going?" Peter asks, following behind him. 

"To tell Mom and Dad I want to do it."

"I think it's better if you-"

But Stiles is running inside now and banging open the door to the living room. "I want to marry Peter," he announces in a breathless rush.

"Stiles!" his parents say in unison.

Stiles puts his hands on his hips. He needs them to know he means what he says. "He told me what they can do. Please, let them. Mom. Please."

"Stiles, please go back into the other room," his father says. Then he glares at Peter. "Alone, this time."

"I know what it means. I'm not dumb. I'm not too young to figure it out," Stiles says. It's not entirely truth, but he gets the gist of it. For some reason, Peter wants to marry him. And if Stiles really is an omega, the son of the sheriff, that means a lot for grown-up politics. Stiles could probably have any alpha he wants in a few years. If Peter wants to marry him, getting everyone to agree to it now for a big price is the only way for it to happen. And he's gotten his pack alpha involved, and magic, and… it all makes Stiles feel kind of special.

"You may be smart, but you can't decide this for yourself," Stiles's mom says. "It's up to us."

"It should be up to me!" Stiles says. 

"We'll talk about it later," his dad says. "Now... go up to your room."

"You've gotta say yes, dad! Think about mom. Please!" Stiles says.

"Now, Stiles!"

Stiles trudges up to his room. He already wishes Peter was there to keep him company.

* * *

His parents are reluctant, but desperate, too. They agree to the betrothal. They sign paperwork giving Stiles's care over to the Hale pack once he turns sixteen. Stiles doesn't have to sign anything, but Peter asks him very seriously at the contract signing if he's sure.

Stiles nods solemnly. "I've never been so sure of anything."

* * *

Stiles has his first heat at thirteen, confirming what the werewolves told him: he's an omega. He has five offers of courtship in the first week and two straight-out marriage proposals. Omegas are rare, and he's the only child of the county Sheriff. Only Jackson, son of the district attorney, had more, and Stiles would have gotten even more attention if he hadn't told everyone he was already betrothed.

"To a werewolf, and not even a pack alpha," Jackson sneers.

Stiles hasn't seen much of Peter since his parents agreed to the match. Sometimes he catches a glimpse, but Peter doesn't go out of his way to see him. Or at least it doesn't seem so. Stiles doesn't get it. Peter wanted him so bad that he set up a betrothal contract with a nine year old, but doesn't take time to get to know him?

Sometimes Stiles thinks he's been ripped off. Other omegas get a lot of attention from alphas wanting to court them. And while Stiles will never, ever wish for a different courting gift than the gift of his mom's extended life, he does wish sometimes that it wasn't the only one. Not that he's greedy, he just… wants a little more confirmation that Peter wants him. He does still want him, doesn't he? Maybe he's changed his mind.

When he's fourteen, after a particularly bad heat that leaves him depressed and lonely, Stiles tries to seek out his errant future husband. He knocks on the Hales' front door and demands to see Peter.

But Talia, the pack alpha, tells him it's not allowed. That his parents haven't agreed to it.

Stiles is turned away after refusing to tell anyone else what's wrong. When he gets back home, he's confused and angry.

"Why can't I see Peter?" he asks his mother.

"It's part of the contract," she admits. "He's not to contact you or seek you out or anything like that."

"Mom," Stiles says, slowly and carefully. "Do you want me to marry a stranger? Because that's what he'll be if I can't see him."

"You can't blame us for trying to protect you," she says, flustered.

"Well, when can I see him? Or will I be literally walking down the aisle the next time I'm allowed to speak to him?"

"I have to speak to your father. You're still so young, and Peter Hale is… not."

"I doubt he wants to molest me or something," Stiles says with a roll of his eyes.

"You don't know that." She still looks flustered, but stubborn now.

Stiles gives her a serious pleading look. "Please, Mom." Then he goes upstairs to his room.

* * *

They agree to short, chaperoned visits. 

Stiles hates the fact that someone has to oversee the visits, but the more he's around Peter, the more he likes him. He's funny, sarcastic, and really smart. He doesn't talk to Stiles like he's a kid, and sometimes he brings peanut butter cups.

Sometimes in his head Stiles still calls Peter 'my wolf'. Sometimes Peter smiles at him like he knows.

* * *

During Stiles's next heat, he calls out for Peter.

His parents are resigned. Stiles is just embarrassed.

* * *

His mother starts getting sick again in February, and has to go into a care center soon after. Not because she's physically ill, but because she can't take care of herself. She accidentally starts a kitchen fire because she forgot she was cooking. Stiles has to put it out.

The decline is rapid. She has good days and bad. On the good days, she's just a little absent minded. On the bad days, she forgets she even has a son. Unfortunately, soon there are more bad days than good ones.

Visits with Peter drop off because the usual chaperones are Stiles's parents.

Alone in his room, huddled on the floor against his bed, he calls Peter. When Peter answers, Stiles has a hard time getting any of his choked words out.

"Stiles, sweetheart, just take it slow. Breathe."

It takes a little while, but Stiles finally speaks, albeit in a whisper. "She's getting really bad."

"Oh, darling. I'm so sorry," Peter says.

"I just feel so helpless," Stiles sniffles. "I don't know what to do."

"I don't think there's anything you can do," Peter tells him.

"I miss you," Stiles tells him.

Peter's silent for some time. Then he asks, "Is your father home?"

Stiles doesn't want to tell Peter his father passed out downstairs holding an empty bottle. "He's asleep."

"You know I'm not supposed to see you without a chaperone," Peter says, but Stiles knows that tone of voice. 

"I can sneak out," Stiles says. "I can meet you somewhere."

Peter groans but doesn't disagree. "I'll see you in your backyard. I don't want you running off in the middle of the night. You could get hurt."

"I just need to see you," Stiles whispers. 

"I'll be there in half an hour," Peter promises.

He's there but not how Stiles imagined. Stiles is sitting on his back steps when a huge wolf comes loping into the backyard. He laughs quietly when Peter licks his cheeks. Stiles wraps his arms around the wolf's thick neck and holds on tightly. "I'm so glad you're here."

Peter doesn't change back to human, but Stiles doesn't mind. His wolf's company is comforting. Peter wraps around him and Stiles dozes. Peter keeps him warm, and safe, and when Stiles cries he just snuggles closer.

Right before dawn, Peter wakes Stiles with a cold nose pressed against his neck. Stiles grumbles but Peter pushes him back toward the back door. 

"I get it, I'll go in," Stiles says.

Peter huffs and presses his massive wolf head against Stiles's hip.

Stiles pets him and smiles. "Thank you for coming." Then he goes inside, no one the wiser.

* * *

The next time Stiles sees Peter is at the funeral. It seems the entire Hale pack is there. But Stiles doesn't get a chance to talk to Peter, not really. Because as soon as Peter gets close, Stiles's dad reels him in and starts walking him in the other direction.

Stiles makes eye contact with Peter, gives him an apologetic half smile over his shoulder. That's all he can do, though, because his dad is whispering, "Who's this, again?" in his ear and Stiles has to murmur Mrs. Johnson's name and that she's — she _was_ — Mom's friend from book club. 

When Talia Hale makes her way over to them, John holds himself a little more stiffly, speaks to her not quite coldly but there's no warmth at all. She nods, her lips pursed, and hugs Stiles. It's a mom kind of hug, which makes him feel worse, in a way.

His dad pulls him back, right out of the hug, and says, "You're not taking my son."

Talia looks shocked. "Of course not, John."

"I just lost my wife," he says, and Stiles winces. 

"Dad, why don't you go upstairs for a little while," Stiles says. "Wash your face. Calm down."

His father's eyes dart around the room at the wake guests still milling around, everyone shooting them looks now and then. "I'm fine."

Stiles and Talia exchange a look. 

"John, maybe Stiles could stay with us tonight, or-"

"Absolutely not. You are not taking my son from me. I may have promised him to your pack but you… she's dead and you…"

Stiles is mortified. He's… something else too, something close to devastated. He's not sure how to characterize how he feels in that moment. "Dad," he says, sharp and urgent. "Stop." The grip where his dad is holding his arm tightens and Stiles winces in pain. His dad sees and drops his hold. Stiles looks into his father's face and says, "Please."

His dad scrubs at his face with both hands. "Yeah. I'm going upstairs. If you could…" He looks at Talia. "Could you see everyone leaves?" His tone isn't polite but at least he's not as hostile. He just sounds tired now.

Talia nods. "Of course." She puts her hand out and gently touches Stiles's arm where he's rubbing it. He didn't realize he was rubbing it until she did that. "I'll be in touch."

* * *

The original contract between Stiles's parents and the Hale pack included a date. Stiles was to marry Peter once he turned sixteen, and his birthday is only two months away. Talia's been planning the wedding. But Stiles wants…

He doesn't _know_ what he wants, but he knows his dad needs him now, more than ever. He knows he can't leave him. So he calls Peter, his heart in his throat, and asks if they can postpone the wedding.

Peter is quiet for a long time. Then he says, "We'll do whatever you want."

Stiles feels even worse. "It's not about what I want. My dad needs me. He's already lost Mom, I can't… I can't leave him yet."

"That's a lot of responsibility you're putting on yourself."

Stiles doesn't see it like that. He's just doing what he needs to do. What his father needs.

* * *

His father is grieving. He's a mess. He drinks, he overworks himself, and drinks some more. He spends less time with Stiles but when he does talk to him…

"You're not going to leave me too, are you?" John asks, his words all smudged together like an impressionist painting.

Stiles's stomach sours from the combination of guilt and the scent of whiskey on his father's breath. "No, Dad. I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

Stiles's sixteenth birthday comes and goes. Months pass. He can't help but think about what could have been. He wonders if he and Peter would be happy together once they married. He wonders if Peter will keep waiting.

Somewhere along the way, Stiles fell in love with the werewolf. Now he's scared to death of losing him. What if Peter finds someone else? Someone older, smarter, prettier. Someone who remembers how to smile.

Peter calls. He offers to get the Jeep a tune-up, and tells Stiles he misses him.

"I miss you too," Stiles says quietly. "I do. When-" And then he hears his father. "I have to go."

Late that night, he cries. He wants his wolf, but he can't leave his dad.

* * *

He misses his next heats. He wouldn't even have noticed if not for Peter, who calls and asks if he's got everything ready, if he needs anything for this heat. And he apologizes for not asking for the last one.

And then Stiles realizes he's missed his period, too, that he hasn't had one since his mom got sick. He's been having lightheadedness, some fainting spells. Headaches. His body is a mess. He needs to see a doctor but he doesn't want to put more on his dad's plate.

"I'll take you, darling," Peter tells him, and Stiles sags in relief. 

Stiles's dad is working when Peter takes him to the doctor. When Peter picks him up to drive him there, there's shock on his face. "You've lost weight."

Stiles shrugs. "Hard to keep food down."

Stiles knows he could have Peter wait in the waiting room, but unless he's being examined, he doesn't want to let go of Peter's hand.

The doctor asks a lot of questions, and Stiles has to answer truthfully because Peter's sitting right there and he'll know. So they find out Stiles hasn't been sleeping enough, hasn't been eating enough, and he's been under a great amount of stress.

At some point during the visit, Stiles covers his face with his hands and cries. Peter draws him into his arms and pets his hair. "It's okay, sweetheart. We'll make this better."

Except there's not a whole lot they can do. His sleep is restless because he's under so much pressure to be good for his dad. It's hard to eat because it just isn't important, and when he does try, food makes him sick.

He says this and Peter looks at the doctor helplessly. Peter's never helpless, and it makes Stiles want to hide his face some more, so he does.

"Removing you from the situation is our number one priority. You're so stressed your body is working against you," the doctor says.

And part of Stiles wants to fight, but part of him is so _relieved_.

"I'm going to take you off the Adderall," the doctor says. "We'll cut the dose in half at first. But it speeds up your metabolism and you don't need that right now. Also, you'll need a special diet. I'll have the nurse get you the information in a few minutes."

It feels like so much. "What did you mean about… about removing me from the situation?"

The doctor smiles kindly and looks at Peter. "Do you have a safe place he can stay?" Peter nods.

"What do you mean, a safe place? My dad… he's not… not-safe. He's okay. He's grieving but I am too and…" Stiles starts crying again. He covers his face with both hands. It's so embarrassing.

"You're showing clear signs of depression," the doctor says.

"My mom just died," Stiles points out, voice choked.

The doctor looks at the file. "Six months ago."

God, has it been that long? Stiles shakes his head. 

"I'm going to suggest grief therapy, too. You should have gone already."

"No time," Stiles mutters, but that's a lie. He just didn't want to dwell. He had to be there for his dad, not wasting his time on his own problems. He can deal with-

Well, apparently he can't.

He looks at Peter, who's clenching his jaw. He looks furious.

"Please don't be mad at me," Stiles says in a small voice. His hand hovers over Peter's, but he's afraid to touch now.

Peter's head shoots up. His expression melts into one of caring. "I'm not angry with you, darling." He takes Stiles's hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing the knuckles. "I'm worried, and I'm angry I didn't see how bad this was before it came to this."

"I hid it," Stiles confesses.

Peter pulls him into his arms. Stiles relaxes against him, feeling safer than he has in months.

The doctor clears his throat. "Since Stiles is underage, we may have some trouble removing him from his father's… custody."

"His father signed a contract giving over care of his son to the Hale pack on Stiles's sixteenth birthday," Peter says. "If he tries to object, I have legal standing."

Stiles stays quiet, though his heart is breaking. He's worried about his dad, but he knows he has to take care of himself, too.

* * *

Peter drives him home to pick up some things. Stiles just wants to get his pillow, his meds, and some clothes. Unfortunately, his dad is home now. Peter follows Stiles into the house. 

"What the hell are you doing here?" John asks Peter. There's an open whiskey bottle on the coffee table. Stiles freezes in place.

"I just brought Stiles back from the doctor," Peter says evenly. "Stiles, go get your things."

John looks confused and angry. Stiles is afraid to leave them alone together. Peter shoots him a reassuring look, though, and Stiles scoots on upstairs.

There's a suitcase in his closet that he hasn't used in years. It's big enough, he thinks. He doesn't know if he'll ever come back. He's not thinking clearly, he knows, but… what if his dad throws out everything he leaves behind? 

So Stiles takes everything that matters. Pictures of his mom. Letters she wrote and put in his lunch bag. The lopsided afghan she made him when she learned to crochet. 

He hears loud voices but he can't make out the words. He doesn't want to hear. He feels lightheaded and has to sit on his bed so he doesn't fall over. He doesn't even realize he's crying until Peter is in front of him, wiping the tears away with his fingertips.

Peter kneels in front of him and looks up into his face. "Do you need help, sweetheart?" 

Stiles shakes his head. "Is Dad okay?"

Peter's lips thin. "He's been drinking, but I think I got through to him."

"I don't feel good," Stiles tells him, voice small again.

Peter kisses his temple and finishes packing for him.

* * *

When he gets to the Hale house, Peter gives Stiles a small cup of applesauce to eat, and one piece of toast. Stiles eats the applesauce and half the toast. He's afraid Peter will get mad at him for not finishing, but Peter just helps him up the stairs and tucks him into bed. 

"Sleep, sweetheart," Peter tells him.

Stiles bites his lip. "Will you stay? For a little while?"

Peter kisses his forehead. "I'll be right back." A few minutes later, he comes back as a wolf, and cuddles beside Stiles on the bed. 

Stiles buries his face in Peter's fur and falls asleep almost instantly.

* * *

His phone rings at six-thirty in the morning, waking Stiles and Peter. It's his dad calling. Stiles's stomach churns as he stares at his phone's screen. It's a relief when Peter pulls the phone out of his hand and takes it away, walking out of the room with it. Stiles isn't sure if Peter is going to answer the call or just ignore it, but either way, Stiles can roll over and pull the covers up over his head. He knows it's immature to hide from his dad, but he really doesn't think he can handle the situation right now. Not this early in the morning, when his brain is still mush and all he wants is to go back to sleep.

Five minutes later, Peter returns without the phone. Stiles peeks out from under the blanket at him, noting the lack of shirt and shoes, his sweatpants slung low on his hips. He looks good. And Stiles wonders for the hundredth time why he ever would want Stiles.

But then Peter gets back into the bed and snuggles up behind him, and Stiles realizes they fit perfectly. And maybe Peter knew that from the beginning.

"Did you talk to him?" Stiles whispers. He doesn't want to talk about this, doesn't want to _think_ about it, but he can't help but ask.

Peter kisses the nape of his neck. "Don't worry. Go back to sleep."

"I hate it when you don't give me a straight answer."

"I did talk to him." Peter's arms tighten around him. "He didn't remember what I told him last night, so he's coming over later to talk to Talia and me about your health and welfare."

Stiles threads his fingers through Peter's. "I should be there, too."

"Only if you're feeling up to it."

Stiles is both nervous and relieved. And he's a hundred percent sure he's not getting back to sleep now. It's nice being held, though. "Sometimes I think I'm too much trouble. What do you get out of this?"

Peter's arms loosen and Stiles can feel him propping himself up on the pillow behind him. "Look at me, sweetheart."

Stiles huffs and rolls over so he can face Peter. He's eager for some kind of reassurance, but he's not sure what Peter could possibly say to give it to him. "Yeah?"

Peter looks into his eyes. He smiles a little, though his face is serious. "I love you."

"You do?" Stiles blinks a few times. "Really?"

Peter huffs. "Of course, sweetheart. I've known for years that I loved you, that we were meant to be together…" He trails off. "Werewolves know when someone is perfect for them. I knew when you were nine years old and crying in the woods."

"Like… a mate?" Stiles asks. He's heard of werewolf mates, but he always thought they were a myth.

"Exactly so."

Stiles thinks about it for a long time. He cuddles close to Peter. Eventually, he says, "I love you too, you know."

Peter holds him closer and kisses his hair. "Thank you."

"Do you love me because I'm your mate or…?" Stiles bites his lip.

"Somewhat. When I first met you, I felt protectiveness and care for you, but it wasn't until I got to know you when you were older that I really knew I loved you."

Stiles relaxes. "Good answer." He's both happy and relieved. Happy, because Peter really does love him. Relieved that it's not just because of some biological or supernatural imperative. He sighs. Now he'll never be able to go back to sleep. "What time is Dad coming?"

Peter strokes over Stiles's hair. "At ten. You don't have to see him."

"But I should… I feel like I should." He's confused. Thinking about his dad makes him stressed and miserable. He should let Peter and Talia take care of everything. "I don't want to, but I don't want to hurt him more."

"What about you? What if he hurts you?" Peter asks. Stiles opens his mouth to argue but Peter holds up a hand. "I know he won't hurt you physically, but being in that situation has been tearing you apart."

Stiles is quiet for a moment. Then, "He's my _dad_."

"That doesn't give him the right to abuse you," Peter tells him.

"It wasn't abuse," Stiles says quietly, and he wonders what his heart does. Does it betray the lie or is it the truth?

He knows Peter wants to argue. He can see it in his eyes. But maybe Peter sees something in Stiles's eyes, too, because he just pulls him close and holds him. Stiles finds himself with his head lying over Peter's heart. He can hear his heartbeat like this, and wonders if their hearts beat together, like he's heard werewolf mates do.

He cuddles closer and focuses on that instead of thinking of his father. 

Mates. Peter's known since Stiles was nine years old and crying over his mother in the woods. It makes sense now, how the pack came to offer the courtship. Though secretly, hadn't Stiles always known in his heart that Peter and he had something special? There'd always been a persistent thought there in the back of Stiles's mind. An idea that Peter and he had bonded somehow, and that was why Peter came that day with the magical courting gift that kept their family whole that much longer.

"I want to marry you," Stiles whispers. The sun is starting to pour through the blinds, light coming through in thick slats across the bed.

He can hear the smile in Peter's voice. "I want to marry you, too."

"I don't want to wait," Stiles tells him. "Soon." He picks up his head and looks into Peter's face. "Please?"

Peter smiles at him softly, but he shakes his head. "I don't think you're ready, darling. Give yourself some time to get better, to grieve, to be healthy again. Then we can talk about the wedding."

Stiles groans. For a moment he'd forgotten he's ill. That he's missed his heats. That he can barely eat and has lost too much weight. "I wish I was normal. I wish… I wish everything was normal." But normal to him is his dad not drinking and his mom being alive and well. Normal… will never be the same thing again. 

His eyes fill with tears and Peter pulls him back into his arms.

In the end, Stiles lets Peter and Talia speak with his father without him.

* * *

Getting better is not fun. It takes work. He has to work to eat, to live day to day without his Adderall. He has to work in therapy with Marin Morrell, work at changing his mind about some things. To seeing the reality of the situation. The day he admits what his father put him through was abuse is the day he breaks down and stays in bed for a full day. Thankfully, he has Peter every step of the way.

Not just Peter, though. The whole Hale pack is supportive, loving, like a family should be. Talia treats him like another of her children, and that is bittersweet. It hurts because it makes him miss his mom. But it's nice, to have a parent looking out for his best interests.

He's not ready to see his father again yet. It'll take some more therapy before he's equipped, he thinks. For now, his dad is respecting his boundaries, which is a good sign, Marin says.

If only he'd been more respectful before this. 

Peter tells him his father is in therapy, too, and has been going to meetings to help deal with his alcohol abuse. Stiles is glad, but he also wants to yell at his dad. He wants to ask why he didn't do it before, when his actions were hurting Stiles so much, when his drinking and dependence on _Stiles_ was killing his son. Why didn't he notice? Or did he just not care?

Stiles is just so angry now. Marin says it's normal and healthy. He works on ways to let it out so he doesn't accidentally take it out on the Hales, since they'd be the most convenient target.

It's frustrating. He had no clue therapy would be so much work or hurt so much sometimes. But on the other hand, he likes it. Likes being able to put his feelings into words instead of holding everything in.

He wonders how long he'll be mad at his father. Marin says it's different for everyone, which tells him nothing. 

And then, six weeks after he left home, he's gained back most of the weight he lost. The doctor okays him going back on his Adderall, which is a big relief. His appetite is back with a vengeance suddenly, even with the meds, and Peter goes out of his way to make sure Stiles has the best food available.

Stiles gets his period. It's light and only lasts two days, but the doctor says it's a good sign. The doctor asks Peter to leave the room and then Stiles and he talk about birth control for Stiles's next heat.

Stiles hasn't talked to Peter about his heats because since everything happened, he hasn't had any. But now it's a real possibility. Stiles blushes when he thinks about it, wonders if Peter would mind taking care of him during his heat.

Even without knowing the answer, Stiles says yes to the birth control. He's young yet, and he'd at least like to be in college before he starts having babies. Peter and he haven't discussed family planning. The doctor strongly suggests they have that conversation.

Stiles chooses a birth control shot that lasts four months. He makes an appointment to come back for the next one. And then he takes a deep breath and realizes there's nothing stopping Peter and him from getting married now.

Well, maybe he should work on his relationship with his dad. He's still angry with him but the thought of his father not being there to walk him down the aisle at his wedding is upsetting in a completely different way.

* * *

He doesn't tell Peter his thoughts right away. Stiles stays uncharacteristically quiet. He knows Peter is worried, but Stiles is trying to figure out how to approach the subject. He's got a lot to say but doesn't know how.

"You know you can tell me anything," Peter says. He kisses Stiles's temple and leaves it at that. He doesn't push, and Stiles appreciates it.

But then Stiles starts running a low fever and he knows his heat is coming on soon.

"Will you help me through my heat?" he blurts out.

They're alone in the library and Peter's been reading something in ancient Greek while Stiles has been secretly jotting down notes for what kind of wedding he wants. Talia was planning before, but Stiles wants to have a bigger part in the process. It's his wedding, after all.

Peter's eyes widen. "You're going into heat? When?"

"Soon. But I kinda need an answer before I can't think anymore." Stiles quirks a smile but he's so nervous. 

"Of course I'll help you, darling. I'll do anything you want."

Stiles puts aside his notes and the book he was pretending to read. He walks over to Peter and plops down in his lap. "I want everything."

Peter sucks in a breath. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I got a birth control shot at the doctor's, so we can." He rests his head on Peter's shoulder and kisses his neck. "I want to be with you."

Peter shivers and leans in to scent him. He breathes in deeply, too, and Stiles wonders what he smells like. He's not quite in heat yet, but he's already feeling it on a low level. He's never so much as kissed Peter before, not more than a chaste peck. But he wants to, to kiss and touch and surrender.

"I'll give you everything you need," Peter says with a hint of growl.

Now it's Stiles's turn to shiver. The promise in Peter's voice is intoxicating. And Peter always keeps his promises.

* * *

They drive to Peter's penthouse in town. 

"I didn't know you had an apartment," Stiles says. "Don't you live with the pack?"

"Sometimes having my own space is convenient," Peter says. "And I thought you might appreciate it once we got married." 

Stiles takes his hand and threads their fingers together. Peter thinking about their marriage, about Stiles's wants and happiness, makes Stiles feel warmer. He's loved and cherished. His happiness is important to Peter. So is his health. His future. 

Stiles pulls Peter closer. "Why don't you kiss me?" It's a suggestion, a dare, and a demand. From the look in Peter's eyes, it's welcome.

Peter moves in and Stiles doesn't _mean_ to close his eyes. It's just that Peter's closeness, the heat coming off his body, his scent — they're all overwhelming, and that's before Peter's lips even touch his.

Peter kisses him gently. Testing, waiting. 

Stiles smiles a little. "I'm not going to stop you. Kiss me like you want to."

There's the sound of Peter's breath, then his fingertips rest gently on Stiles's cheek. "I always want to," Peter whispers. He's close. His breath puffs against Stiles's lips.

Stiles leans in and does the kissing for him, because if Peter's going to hold back, Stiles is going to chase after him. His body is overheated and undertouched. He _wants_. He sucks Peter's bottom lip into his mouth and nibbles and licks at it. It's all experimental. He's never kissed anyone before, not even to practice. Scott offered once but Stiles turned him down because he wanted _this_ , the awkward first kiss with his fiancé. His mate.

Stiles moans and holds on tight, arms wrapped around Peter's neck. He sways into him and Peter kisses him deeper. Stiles wants to melt into him. He feels like he's melting already, body hot and slick where he needs to be filled.

Peter makes a hungry sound, and then Stiles is picked up, held against Peter's chest, and Peter is carrying him to the bedroom. The bed is luxurious and large, covered in sheets with a higher thread count than should be possible. But soft, too, with down pillows and a soft duvet, and Stiles can only think about how messy it's going to get. He grins up at Peter and Peter grins back, playful and anticipatory.

Stiles is glad he's not quite in the full throes of heat yet. Soon, he won't care about the color of Peter's eyes or the way he smiles. The gentle, reverent way Peter's touching him won't matter, and Stiles will just want more and _now_. But not yet.

"How do you want this to go, sweetheart?" Peter asks.

Stiles feels himself flush with something that has nothing to do with his oncoming heat. But he doesn't need to be embarrassed, does he? Not now. Not with Peter. "I always start off with… with just my fingers. Usually about now I'm, you know, preparing myself."

Peter's eyes flash. "May I do it for you?"

Stiles nods his head quickly, remembering then that they're both fully dressed. He tugs his t-shirt off over his head, nearly hitting Peter in the face with his flailing arms. But Peter just smiles and strips out of his own shirt. Stiles tries not to stare, but Peter's bare chest is just so… distracting.

"Wow," Stiles says without thinking. He feels warm already, the heat coming on quick, and seeing Peter like this is making everything that much hotter. "Okay, this is… I can't wait for this," he says, pushing his pants down before remembering to kick off his shoes. He nearly falls over, but Peter catches him by the elbow.

"It's not a race, darling," he says with a smile.

"No, well, I'd be winning if it was," Stiles says, motioning to Peter's pants.

Peter smirks and unbuckles his belt. Slowly. Stiles nearly melts on the spot.

"You're just being a tease," Stiles grumbles. He's naked now and trying not to be self-conscious about it. It's getting easier as the room warms up. Well, as he warms up, he guesses. He reaches out for Peter's hand and yanks Peter forward so that they both go down on the bed, Peter on top of Stiles.

"I wasn't done," Peter says lightly. His hands move down Stiles's sides like he can't help it, like all he wants is to touch skin. 

Stiles pushes Peter's pants down, even helps pull them off with his feet. Peter does a shimmy and together they get the job done so Peter's naked too.

Everywhere Peter is touching him feels different, like his skin is brand new. And then Peter kisses him and Stiles is lost to the sensations. He only comes back to himself when Peter pulls away. He may make an embarrassing, forlorn little noise, but Peter's quick to reassure him.

"Just getting the lube, sweetheart."

Stiles looks at the bottle Peter just swiped from the bedside table. It's not a brand he's familiar with — he's only really familiar with KY, to be honest. He says as much and then giggles at the look of horror on Peter's face.

"No more of that, darling," Peter says. "Though I'll tell you why at a later time. You'll like this."

Stiles reaches out to touch the liquid on Peter's fingers and can tell the difference immediately. It's like liquid silk, like his own slick. "You probably won't need much," Stiles says, his face flaming at the reason why. He's getting hotter and hotter, and soon he's going to be dripping wet. He's surprised he isn't already. Nerves, maybe.

Peter kisses him again. "Roll over, let me hold you," he says, and Stiles doesn't understand at first. But he does as Peter suggests and then Peter's behind him, spooning him, guiding his leg up to give him better access. 

"Oh," Stiles breathes, and Peter kisses the back of his neck. 

"You said I could open you up," Peter says, low and almost growling. His breath is a caress against Stiles's skin.

"Yes. Please," Stiles whispers. Peter makes another sound like a growl, and Stiles's remaining nerves fly out the window. This is his wolf, his Peter, everything he's ever wanted.

Stiles has always thought of Peter's fingers as elegant, but they feel thick against his hole, which is just what he needs at the moment. He bites his lip, swallows an embarrassingly needy noise, but then Peter nips his shoulder.

"Don't hide from me, Stiles," Peter says. "I want to hear you."

Stiles gasps when Peter's fingers tease him. He can't help but push back, wanting them _in in in_. He's starting to feel empty now, the way heats always make him feel, but knowing this time will be different, that he'll finally be satisfied, makes him feel even more impatient for it.

"Peter," Stiles whines, chasing _more_. 

"Oh, darling, you're so perfect," Peter tells him, then licks up the nape of Stiles's neck. "I'll take care of you. I promise."

And then his fingers — two at once — are pressing inside him. It's slow, steady, but unrelenting. It doesn't even hurt the way Stiles thought it might, because his heat is coming on and he's already opening up to Peter like he was meant to, like his body knows it should.

Stiles pushes back more fully against the intrusion, so that Peter's fingers slip past the ring of muscle and go deep. Not quite deep enough, but nothing will be deep enough until he has Peter's cock inside him.

Stiles whimpers at that thought. He wants nothing more but he knows he needs to be prepped first. It's hard to remember that, though, with his heat coming on stronger. Maybe Peter's fingers did something, opened the floodgate, because now Stiles is feeling even hotter, like he has a fever, and Peter's the only one who can put it out.

Suddenly, the two fingers are not enough. He wants Peter to _fuck_ him. He needs his alpha, needs to get filled and tied and owned.

"I know," Peter says, and he sounds now like he's clenching his teeth. "But I don't want to hurt you. I promised I'd take care of you and I will. Just a little more, darling."

He's slick with more than just lube now. He can smell it, and if Stiles can, he knows Peter can. Peter's got to be barely holding back with all these pheremones and omega heat-scent in the air. Sties can almost admire his restraint — almost. He wants Peter to let go and give in to his instincts, to lose it and take him.

"Oh, I will, sweetheart," Peter promises. 

Stiles doesn't think Peter's reading his thoughts, which means now he's babbling everything that comes to mind. He didn't think heat would make him so talkative.

Together they've somehow leveled up to four fingers, stretching Stiles out, making him ache and beg for more. Peter pulls his fingers out and pets Stiles's flank, kisses his shoulder. Stiles feels like he's going out of his mind, he _wants_ so much. 

"Peter, please, if you don't fuck me now I'm gonna scream," Stiles says, as seriously as he can, though it takes a few tries to get the words out in the right order. He takes a deep breath to beg more, because if that's what Peter's waiting for, Stiles has no shame whatsoever at this point and he has no problem with the begging.

But Peter's pushing in, and then he has a hand on Stiles's hip as he goes even farther, fucking in, his cock stretching Stiles in a way his fingers just couldn't.

It's perfect.

"I've waited so long for you, my perfect mate," Peter says softly. Maybe he thinks Stiles doesn't hear, or is too far gone to listen, but he does and it makes him feel so good. Floaty, almost, wrapped up in Peter's love.

Stiles squeezes against the thick length inside him and Peter growls. "Perfect," he says again, and starts to fuck him with long, satisfying strokes that make Stiles's toes curl. Even his nipples tingle. His whole body is on fire, invisible flames deliciously lapping at his skin, and Stiles can't stop making noise.

It feels so good he starts to cry, and yet his body craves even more. It's heat, he's an omega, and he's desperate to be knotted. He might say that, or maybe he just begs for more, and Peter grips his leg and fucks faster and deeper into him. 

Peter says, "I promise, baby, I'll give it to you. I'm getting there. God, Stiles, you feel incredible."

"Peter, Alpha," Stiles sobs. He feels himself coming, clenching around Peter, and yet it only satisfies for a moment. He needs so much more. "Alpha, please, I need it!"

"Tell me again, sweetheart," Peter growls. "Tell me what you need. I love to hear you."

Stiles cries out when Peter slips a finger alongside his dick, stretching his hole even wider. "I need your knot," Stiles says, breathless with need.

"Greedy boy, you've already come," Peter says. 

"You promised," Stiles sobs.

Peter reassures him quickly, his words coming out slurred and choppy. He's close, it's time. "Shh, yes, oh sweetheart, I did promise and I'll- here- do you feel it?"

The swelling has started, and Peter removes his finger. His knot takes its place, stretching along Stiles's rim, and then Peter pushes in deeper so that his knot ties them, and it's the most perfect thing Stiles has ever experienced. He makes a sound, he must, but he could never categorize or describe it again. He just knows he's finally full, finally satisfied.

"There you go," Peter says, sounding breathless, and Stiles can feel his cock pulse inside him. Coming. He's coming and coming, filling him up, exactly as nature intended.

Stiles is overwhelmed. He can't speak, not yet, but he can think. _I love you. I love you. You're perfect, you're so good to me, you're everything._ He takes Peter's hand and squeezes it. Peter squeezes back and kisses his shoulder reverently.

And then another wave of heat hits him and he goes under again, this time without any thoughts but _more_ , _yes_ , and _Alpha_.

* * *

Stiles's heat lasts three days. He doesn't remember most of it, it's a blur of hot, messy sex, but the beginning is clear. He knows it's a memory he'll always hold close to his heart.

He knew knotting would feel good physically, but he had no idea how complete it would make his heart feel, as if it had been broken into pieces and then put together by his mate. He wonders if Peter felt the same.

* * *

They stay in the penthouse sometimes, when they want privacy, but usually they go back to the pack house because pack is important and Stiles knows this.

They plan their wedding.

Stiles knows he has to talk to his father. He's been putting it off for too long. Peter promises to be there, to hold his hand through it all if that's what Stiles needs.

They meet on neutral ground, a diner they both enjoy. Peter and Stiles on one side of the booth, John on the other. Peter has promised not to lash out, and John agreed readily to meet. He says he doesn't want to sabotage anything, that he knows how much this means to Stiles.

Stiles is silent at first, just looking at his dad, waiting. He doesn't wait long.

"I know saying I'm sorry doesn't make it right, but I'm sorry. I really am," John tells him. He takes a breath. "I go to meetings, sometimes twice a week. I have a sponsor. I haven't touched a drink since I lost you, not even a beer."

"You didn't lose me," Stiles says quietly. "I just couldn't…" He trails off, takes a shaking breath. 

John gives him a sad smile. "Are you… do you think you could ever come home?"

"Peter's my home," Stiles says, squeezing his mate's hand beneath the table. "We're getting married."

John looks between them. Nods slowly. "I guess I saw that coming."

"I want you to be the one to walk me down the aisle," Stiles says. "But I still have a lot of… resentment."

Again, John nods. Sighs. "I really fucked up, kid. I know it. But I love you."

Stiles holds tight to Peter's hand. "I love you, too. And I'll forgive you eventually. You're my dad, that hasn't changed."

"I lost track of what's important, and I let my grief and my anger take over," John says. "I put way too much on you, and you had every right to leave."

"I didn't want to leave," Stiles says quietly. "But I didn't really have a choice."

John looks at Peter. "Did you make him-"

"I was _dying_ ," Stiles says sharply. It's taken some time for him to say this, to admit how bad it was. 

John frowns. "It wasn't that bad… was it?"

"I couldn't eat or sleep — I was wasting away in that house with you," Stiles says.

"Why didn't you come to _me_ -"

A waitress comes by and cheerily puts down their food, but Stiles's appetite is gone. He feels shaky, angry, just like he was afraid he'd be. Peter puts an arm around his shoulders and kisses his temple. Whispers low, "Do you need to leave?"

Stiles swallows hard. "You weren't there," he says to his father, and John frowns. "You weren't there the way I needed you to be." He shakes his head. "I thought I could do this but I can't."

He and Peter get up from the booth, leaving John sitting there with a look of despair on his face. Part of Stiles wants to sit down again, make nice, try to fix all of the problems himself or maybe ignore their existence entirely. But he's been to enough therapy now to know he can't do that. He's worked hard to get better and he's not going to bleed himself dry for his father again, even though he wants to.

"Stiles," John says, reaching out to grab his arm as he walks past.

Stiles flinches away. Peter growls, "Don't touch him."

"I wouldn't hurt him," John says.

There is so much wrong with that statement that Stiles wants to lash out. But he'd rather just get the hell away.

"Let's go home," Stiles says to Peter. Peter turns his head from where he's glaring at John and his expressions softens.

"Of course."

* * *

They go to the penthouse. Stiles doesn't want Talia and the others to see him so shaken. He changes clothes, puts on one of Peter's t-shirts and a pair of boxers, and crawls under the covers with his phone. He calls his therapist. She knew what he was doing and is expecting his call.

They talk. Peter leaves him alone, puttering around in the kitchen. 

"I thought I was ready. I thought the anger issue was resolved. But when I saw him and he started talking, I just… it was like…" Stiles sighs into the phone. "He still doesn't understand how badly he hurt me."

His therapist says she's proud of him for trying, but that it's okay that he's not ready to forgive his father yet. That these things take time, and he doesn't even have to forgive him at all.

They talk for about twenty minutes, and then Stiles thanks her and gets off the phone. He still feels crappy, but it's lessened. And he knows he's allowed to feel bad. It doesn't make him a weak person.

Peter brings him grilled cheese. Stiles smiles at his wolf and eats. Slowly, but he's hungry again and he's able.

Peter seems to know just what Stiles needs. He transforms and jumps on the bed next to Stiles. Stiles curls up beside his giant black wolf and sighs. 

There are a lot of things he could say, but he said most of them to his therapist and he doesn't feel the need to rehash it all. Instead, he cuddles his wolf and closes his eyes.

"I love you." Peter shoves his wet nose into Stiles's neck. Stiles grins. "Yeah, I know. You love me, too."

They doze, and when Stiles wakes up he feels much better. He's ready to get on with planning his wedding and looking to the future. It's not perfect, but it's close.

* * *

In the end, Stiles's father is invited to the wedding, but he doesn't give Stiles away.

Stiles and Peter walk down the aisle together, hand in hand, until they reach the officiant. They take vows, give their promises to each other, holding each other's gaze and smiling. Everyone in the venue is likely to feel their happiness, at least that's what Stiles thinks. He knows the werewolves can smell it; Peter's told him love gives off a certain unmistakable scent. 

They kiss to seal the union, and the room erupts in cheers. Stiles grins at Peter, who gives him a brilliant smile in return.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked the story, please consider leaving a comment.


End file.
